


Therapy Session

by AsilandWriting



Category: Epithet Erased (Cartoon)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22171069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsilandWriting/pseuds/AsilandWriting
Summary: Molly finally cashes in her free therapy session with Sylvie, which she deperately needed.
Relationships: Molly Blyndeff & Giovanni Potage, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Giovanni Potage, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Molly Blyndeff, Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling & Molly Blyndeff & Giovanni Potage
Comments: 24
Kudos: 334





	Therapy Session

“Now, Molly, please take a seat.”

The aforementioned girl did as she was told, hopping onto the leather covered recliner, getting on it with her right knee catching her fall. There she turned in her seat and wiggled herself into a comfortable position. She sunk in a bit, but it was incredibly comfortable, as she leaned back and let her arms fall on top of her stomach. She took a look around the room, but in her opinion, it looked like a regular living room, just with less personal belongings. The windows let in warm light, the mint green carpet underneath her had felt soft when she stood on it, the walls were all a soft beige. The curtains were a shimmery blue and the few cupboards and drawers were in the color of dark oak, just like the seat. She started swinging her legs a bit, her eyes wandering to see if she saw anything worth of noting, but all she could make out was papers on the one desk in the corner and a calendar, marked with red in several places.

“You get a lot of patients, Sylvie?”

The boy turned at the mention of his name only halfway, seemingly busy with sorting through his equipment, before he lifted his head and saw her pointing at his work desk.

“Oh, not that many, I suppose. I’ve only left college a few months ago, but I do have regulars already,” he explained, as he rifled through his drawer once more, “Some Epithets are harder to figure out than others, some people like to talk how they use them and try to analyze them with me. And again, others just like to talk.”

Molly nodded at that, as she heard him let out a small hum in approval, having found what he had been looking for. With the new pen in hand and a writing pad he plopped down into his moon seat and crossed his legs, fixing his glasses on top of his nose.

“So, Molly. We’ll take it really slow, so you can get comfortable, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, what would you like to first talk about?”

That already seemed a bit too much responsibility, as she opened her mouth and closed it again, wringing her hands in her lap, her legs pressing against the chair. She had no idea where to even start, her mind filling with every possible thing she could start with.

“I… I don’t know?”

“That’s alright, Molly”, Sylvie consoled her, a patient smile forming, “How about you talk to me about your day yesterday? We can go from there, if you’d like.”

She could do that, she decided, as she let out a breath, her hand wandering to her cheek as she pondered what she now actually did do the day before. Thinking for a minute, she went with a simple explanation on how she woke up and readied herself for school. She explained what she did in class, talked about the friends she had there and what they talked to her about and afterwards how she made her way back home. She went into detail who her friends were, what they liked and how they had met, before she went back to herself, how she had made dinner and what she had done for homework. Not a single time Sylvie interrupted, just listening as he nodded here and there, while she finished up on how she went to work afterwards.

“For how long have you been working?”

“Oh, for like 4 hours. Ever since boss told me to stand a bit up for myself, I went to bed earlier!”

“That’s fantastic, Molly!” He seemed genuinely impressed with her, which made her sit a bit taller in her seat, smiling back at his happy face, “You’ve already taken a few steps on improving all on your own.” Then he lifted his paper stack once more. “I wanted to actually ask for how long you have been helping out in the shop, but I’m very happy to hear you are getting the rest you need.”

“Oh, well…” She pressed her thumb to her lips, “I can’t remember actually? I’ve always helped mom out and watched dad build and stuff. Before she died, I actually loved standing behind the register and pressing the buttons. But you know…” She swallowed at that. “Kind of lost its charm after a few months.”

Sylvie seemed to think about her answer, before he cleared his throat.

“You mentioned your mother again. Back at the museum, I offered you to talk about it in a session.” He laughed a bit at that, on one hand sounding over-confident, on the other hand almost a bit embarrassed, leaning his fingers against his chest in the mocking way he was known for, “Which, obviously, you took.”

That little quip relaxed Molly to no end, as she grinned back into his direction. The fact that Sylvie didn’t turn into a cold wall like she had feared he would, was a boulder falling from her shoulders. When they decided to go through with it all, she was worried that Sylvie would become someone else or something, since it was his job and jobs… Well, she works in retail after all, she knows how to fake her cheeriness to please an annoyed, angry customer.

Sylvie however was like ever; snarky for sure, acting self-assured, but was also considerate regarding her feelings; someone she could talk to. 

“It’s as bad as a transition to the theme goes, but you know.” A tilt of his head towards the window followed, his voice cutting through her train of thought. “Would you like to talk about her now?”

Molly followed his nod to the blue sky, and she felt her heart break for the tiniest bit again. She had been sure she’d gotten over it completely, it’s been 2 years after all, at some point there had to be no more tears left to cry. But here she was, her eyes getting itchy, as she let out a small sigh, shrugging her shoulders.

“Of course, that’s why I came for after all, right? It’s just… I haven’t really talked about her, only of her… I…”

Her throat hitched, already an apology forming for not being able to go through with his request. However, she was stopped as she felt a hand on her knee, lifting her eyes to Sylvie’s face.

“And here I said we’d take it slow…” He seemed sheepish, which made her ease a bit. “You don’t have to, Molly. You can just say no and we’ll talk about something else.”

She let out a laugh, before she shook her head.

“Actually, I’d like that. To talk about her. I just… need a minute and think of what to say.”

“You have all the time in the world, I promise.”

And so, she leaned back and sorted through her memories, realizing she hadn’t done that in a long, long time. She had been kind of aware that she had been stowing her thoughts of her mother into the back of her head, but now to have it on display again, it seemed like a lot of stuff to shuffle through.

Slowly she started on how beautiful her mom was, she thought that would be a nice enough start.

Her mom had always been a good mother, keeping the store in check, her dad and sister in line. She had always looked out that she had been fed and slept safely. To say it out loud stirred some pain in her chest, but she trudged through, too fond of her mom to stop anytime soon. She slowly went into details, what they did together, at the park, the mall, when she took her home from school. How she had helped with homework and sung lullabies when she couldn’t sleep. She even pulled at her coat to show him her hood, pointing at the little ears.

“She made it all from scratch, even the lining. I asked her to make it as soft as she could, and she did without even thinking about it.”

“That’s astonishing, she must have been incredibly talented!”

“Yeah!”

Sylvie showing excitement made her feel warm, as she hugged the front of her coat, grabbing to its sides and pulling them closer, smiling so hard the grin could have split her face. It had been her most prized possession since she had gotten it, she always wore it when possible, glad that the city usually had colder temperatures and that she was cold often anyway. She continued with her explanations, the happiness turning somber, as she realized slowly that all the things she was listing, she could never do them again, her chest turning heavy.

When she mentioned how she had always asked her to brush her thick hair, getting the knots out, she tugged at the strands closest to her face.

Looking at the locks now, they were wilder than ever before.

“I miss her.”

She pulled the strands behind her ear as she repeated herself.

“I really, really miss her.”

She felt her voice strain as she told him that she wished she could have told her mom how much she loved her brushing her hair. That she loved when she had made pancakes for dinner, that she loved how she had always looked out that her plushies were all with her in bed and got tucked in just as safely.

“I want her back.”

She wanted the lazy afternoons back where she sat in her lap and she wanted the mornings back where she got a goodbye kiss before going to school and she wanted the evenings back where they watched dumb cooking shows together.

“But she can’t.” She shook her head, as if trying to shake the thought out of her mind, “She can’t come back.”

Finally, a tear rolled down her cheek as she wiped is swiftly away with the back of her hand, only more following. It had been a long time coming, but it still hurt fresh as ever to not have her around anymore, a small, quiet sob leaving her mouth.

Molly didn’t really know what to do, because stopping was no option, her throat too full and hiccupping painfully around the stone that formed there. Her hands went to her face, as she grabbed her cheeks, as if she could press the tears back, her skin burning as her nails dug into the skin. She felt her whole-body shake, shoulders going up and down and all she wanted is for it to stop, for it to quiet down.

She blinked a bit as Sylvie held out a tissue box (he must have stood up and got one while she was busy pushing the salty tears and snot from her face) (she had forgotten he was there for a minute, and her heart thudded painfully in bashfulness) and she gratefully took one, blowing into it loudly.

“I know it hurts,” Sylvie murmured, which made her let out another strangled sob, “I know.”

It took her a while to get her bearings back, looking for another tissue as her first one was rendered useless, dripping more liquid than it was holding. Sylvie pushed a wastepaper basket closer and Molly threw it in, thanking him as he held out a fresh one, before she started cleaning her face, her damp face heating up in embarrassment at the same time.

However, Sylvie seemed to sense the change in mood and tried to soothe her, waving his hand. “We’re here to let it all out, okay?”

Nodding, she balled up her tissue, her face still red, and threw it again in its proper place beside her, sniffling a bit.

“Say, would it be okay of me to ask how she died?”

Molly immediately clamped her mouth shut as her eyes wandered to the carpet, feeling her eyes sting anew. She felt her hands go sweaty, but she remembered what Sylvie had told her just a few minutes ago and she shook her head, the last drops dripping down onto the leather.

“No, it wouldn’t be.”

“Alright”, he nodded, as if the question had never even existed and Molly blew out a grateful huff at his nonchalance, thanking her stars he wasn’t going to pry the answer out of her, “I won’t ask again unless you want me to.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry she couldn’t stay longer than she had,” he offered.

At first it had sounded like an off comment, like she heard often before, people that heard the news and were trying to pity her. But Sylvie really seemed to mean it, as he laid his papers down and closed his eyes, as if he was trying to imagine what her mother must have been like. It made her heart churn and she needed another tissue, wiping her eyes, some of the blessed silence calming her down.

She wasn’t sure how long it took for her to be presentable again, but she was glad Sylvie was giving her the time. Three more tissues later she felt a bit more like herself again and she sighed, one hand clinging to her other, closing her eyes.

“I miss her so much… It’s not fair.”

“It really isn’t,” he affirmed, before he sighed a bit, “But I’m glad that she had been there, even if for a short while.”

Molly nodded at that, before she nodded harder. She had been lucky to have her, she couldn’t imagine what could have been if she had not been, thankfulness chasing the gloom to a further corner, leaving her for the slightest bit lighter.

In the silence, she watched Sylvie open his mouth, as if he wasn’t sure if he should, before he went through with it anyway.

“Want to hold a counting sheep?”

“What?”

Before she could say more a little sheep burst into existence in Sylvie’s arms, a cloud of yellow dust springing into the air as it landed in his lap right after. It bleated for a second, looking around to assess the situation, before it settled its gaze on Molly, who had her hand over her heart and her eyes wide in startlement. Then she relaxed and she let out a coo, as the sheep sprung from Sylvie to the armrest and then into her arms, where she circled her arms around the animal, squeezing it carefully.

“They usually help me with sessions,” Sylvie explained as Molly let her hands vanish in the wool, for a moment wondering where they have gone, if there was a pocket dimension in there, only finally to feel the back of the sheep, “Great as warming bottles.”

She nodded a bit, the sheep nuzzling the one hand she had freed from the soft mess and was stretching towards its face. A lick followed, then another, and suddenly it had grabbed the end of her sleeve, trying to graze on it, Molly giggling so hard her voice went an octave higher. While play-battling to get her sleeve back, which was honestly just her pushing lightly at its head and scratching it behind its ear, Sylvie took another breath.

“What about your father?”

“My dad?”

She had been focused on snapping her hand up, her arm freed, as she then pulled the sheep closer to her chest, her gaze going distant in the same instance, looking at the foot end of the recliner.

“You had a lot of things to say about your mother. But how about the rest of your family? Your father?”

“I see,” Molly nodded, her half-smile turning fast into a small frown, “Dad is… kind of the opposite from my mom. My sister, too.”

Sylvie made a hand gesture, which indicated for her to continue and she took a big breath, the sheep’s wool being ruffled, starting with how the two were before her mom’s death. They had never really changed, she supposed, they just got more uncaring when her mom left, the thing that held them together like glue turning into brittle crust. No one to hold them back and no one to force them to do the things they actually needed to do, breaking free. They always say they are busy, but her dad was obviously busy with playing on his (mostly her) phone. And her sister, she doesn’t even know what she was up to nowadays, never really at home, and if, long gone to sleep while Molly was watching the shop.

“They just… don’t care at all. It’s like they became all numb.”

“Numb?”

Molly nodded and Sylvie wrote it down, his face crunching up in thought. Then he seemed to force his face back into a neutral one, as he tapped with his pen against the paper in quick succession, as if he was trying to find the right words to use next.

“And that makes you feel responsible to care?”

“Of course it does!” she rose her voice, looking at Sylvie as if it was obvious, only for the boy to blink at her. The sheep in her arms had startled as well, as it stood on all fours on her legs which made the fire in her eyes dim and she shushed the spooked animal as well as herself, “I mean… Sorry, that was- “

“No, no. Please, the walls are thick, Molly. You can scream your lungs out if you want.”

“…I don’t really want to…”

“But if it happens, no one will get mad.”

She settled back in her seat, where she looked like as if she had been ready to bolt. Then she crossed her arms, as if she wanted to protect herself, tugging at her coat: “… Of course I need to care. The store needs to run, or we will all starve. I wouldn’t know where dad would find another job if I didn’t sell the toys. At least he’s still making them, but mostly because that’s fun for him.”

“Does he build toys often? Do you guys ever run out?”

“No, never. He keeps making them. I guess… it’s distracting? From caring about all the other stuff that needs caring.”

There was a stretch where neither of them said anything, Molly not really knowing what she could say after that. Her dad had loved her mom, she was sure of that, and he had missed her just as much as her sister and her. But, after all this time, he just got so sidetracked, all the time, his head as if it was in the clouds now 99 percent of the time. He had just kind of given up on parenting, seeing it as a chore, and it made her cringe, because that made her the chore and a thing to take care of. But she wasn’t a thing, she was helping, and she was really good at making herself quiet and small and helpful without being in the way. But she sometimes just really needed his help, just for an hour to look out for herself, but as he loved to say; he can punch the parenting card. His deeds had more importance than hers.

It made her feel like an anchor, trying to hold on to a frail rope so she wouldn’t get left behind and drown and still being held back by sand, designed to dig in deep and keep the ship in place.

She stiffened when Sylvie took the lead once more, his voice softer than before.

“Does the caring part include you?”

She sunk in deeper into the cushions, deeper into the sand.

“I need to make myself more useful…”

Sylvie hit a nerve and she was crying again, this time silently as she let the water drip down her face, the energy to sob and shake lost.

“It’s not fair, right? Just because mom isn’t here to remind him to care about me, he shouldn’t just… forget about me. I thought… if I helped out, he’d notice me more, but now he ignores me more. I thought if I do all the stuff, he would be less sad and come back faster, but now he’s happy to just let me do it all and if I don’t work, then we will all starve, but why do I have to do it? I just wanted to help, but now it’s all on my shoulders and I’m not strong enough to carry it all, I’m not- “

“Molly?” Sylvie held her arm, she snapping her head up to his. “Could you please take a big breath for me?”

She tried to go through with that request, but somehow, she found herself not able to. She was too upset to calm down, getting more upset because of it, her voice coming out like a squeak, as she tried to tell Sylvie that she couldn’t do it. He seemed to understand and told her to not worry, it would pass, telling her he would wait for her. He softly patted her hand as she let her eyes fall from his, not able to look at him, as she instead watched Sylvie’s chest rise and fall (which was moving very obviously, he must have been doing it on purpose). Behind her she felt the sheep push its weight into her side, her arm automatically going around it to press it closer, the weight grounding her. That seemed to help, as well as the rhythm giving her something to cling to, so she tried to copy his breathing. It took a while, her hand moving on top of his and squeezing it, as she regained her calm, before she settled back down, this time holding in the apology, knowing he would wave it away like all the other times anyway.

Both sat in silence for a while, before Molly couldn’t take it anymore and stared at Sylvie, who watched her carefully in turn.

“Am I being whiny?”

“…Come again?”

Gripping the hood of her coat, pulling it over her head, she started to curl up, Sylvie watching her with a mix of worry and almost acceptance. She couldn’t take it as she turned into a ball, her head hiding in her knees, arms curled around them.

“I shouldn’t be so selfish… My family needs me, because mom isn’t here anymore. If they can’t do it, I need to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Huh?”

She didn’t dare look up, but Sylvie’s voice didn’t rise or get more emotional, her fear of having angered him settled in a second. He just simply pressed the words out so she would listen, cold at the edge but ultimately neutral.

“You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for your family. In a family, everybody is responsible for everybody, and no one should put one above the other. Or in your case, put yourself beneath them.” He didn’t move to get her out of her cocoon, but she could feel the hand on her knee squeeze again, warmth radiating from there, “If you feel like they don’t appreciate your efforts and it’s too much for you to do alone, you’re allowed to take a step back.”

“But…” she stuttered, curling up tighter, “We will starve.”

“I think you’re overreacting there a tiny bit,” Sylvie told her, leaning back, “I’m sure at this point Giovanni would feed you with all the soup his Epithet can produce. And if your family stands in front of an empty fridge, they’d realize very fast that work needs to be done.” He wrote something down, before he continued. “Besides, your father is in the store when you are at school, both, Giovanni and I, had been over enough times to confirm it. He’d make money, maybe not as much or elegant as you, but he’d do it.”

“… I thought he was goofing off…”

“He is on his phone, but he’s not completely incompetent.”

She still couldn’t bring herself to uncurl, so instead she leaned to the side, knees under her chin, pretty much laying in the seat, head on the armrest. The sheep had moved to sit on the opposite one, no room for it to lay closer to her, a soft bleat making its way out of its throat. Sylvie didn’t mention it, only stretching his arm out to comfort the little animal and she was grateful. She was glad there was no clock in the room and that there was no indication of time going by. Sylvie didn’t even have a wristwatch to check on the time, he just sat there, writing little notes in his notebook after the sheep had curled up.

(Maybe he was just doodling, after all she wasn’t talking, right?)

(She wondered if he could draw.) 

Knowing that her dad was actually working made the chains around her heart loosen up a bit. She hadn’t thought that he was, all the responsibility shoved into her arms. She had been afraid that she was the only one doing work and that the last few nights, where no one had entered the shop would sum up. She should maybe have asked the boys sooner if they could check for her, but she didn’t want to seem paranoid. After all, neither of them really came to the shop unless it was to help her out or to get her specifically out of there. She felt a bit humbled that they had went and seen for themselves that everything was going alright, even though she wasn’t there. Maybe they just walked by and noticed, but that already meant a lot, because noticing; that was the important part. They noticed.

They cared at least.

“Sylvie?”

“Yeah, Molly?”

“Can you draw?”

“… I mean…?” He hummed, as if trying to assess where the question had come from, before he tilted his head, “I had to draw sketches for some projects. Brains and hearts and there like.”

“Ew.”

“But I wouldn’t call myself an artist.” He looked down at his notebook. “Would you like to draw? I have enough paper and pens.”

She hesitated, before she nodded. She couldn’t draw all too well, either, but she needed a bit of a break. Soon enough Sylvie had handed her a sheet and a pencil, Molly wiggling herself back to a sitting position, hoodie still in place as she used her knees as table. While drawing, she noticed Sylvie writing more, his face neutral and she studied his hands. For a second she kept quiet, before she pointed at them.

“Are you left-handed?”

“Ambidextrous actually. I can use both my hands to write.” He threw the pen to his other, fingers clasping it easily, before he wrote with that one, “Changing it up helps when my wrists get tired.”

“Oh. And do you write just as weird as other doctors?”

“You mean cursive?” At her nod, he laughed a bit, “If you’ve ever been to a lecture, trying to keep up with what the teacher is saying, you would write like that, too. But I’m a psychologist, not a physician, so it might be that I got better off.”

Molly pondered over that, before she leaned down to continue drawing. The conversation died out, and she watched from the corner of her eyes at Sylvie, who went back to taking his notes. He looked relaxed but she could see the clogs in his brain turning. Over what exactly, she couldn’t say, he betrayed no emotion. Maybe he had to be so great at doing that, because other people might overanalyze? Well, she was, so that was a good point. He had been pretty easy to read at the museum, so that’s what one calls professionalism, huh?

The quiet felt nice, just two pens scratch scratching over the papers and she decided she liked talking to him.

“I like talking to you.”

He gave a curious look, but she just nodded to herself.

“It’s easy talking to you. I usually have to deal with people that have no patience. I mean… you didn’t either at the museum, but I get that you wanted to protect the amulet from a bunch of thieves. That was really high stake, not like a customer losing it over a rusty wheel on a toy car that doesn’t turn smoothly.”

She bit her tongue, chewing on it.

“I don’t really like talking about bad stuff with people, because that makes them feel bad for me, and I don’t want that. But you just listen, and that’s really what I wanted; someone to listen. Only Giovanni did that before. He gave me really good tips, too, that was nice.” She smiled again, her hood lifting so the shadow from her eyes fell away. “It’s nice talking to you, I’m glad your sleeping dust got on me back then.”

“Wasn’t intentional.” His cheeks reddened for the slightest amount, a bit speechless, before he shrugged, coughing into his fist. “And talking is my job after all.”

“You do your job really well, Sylvie.” She looked down to her knees again, continuing her half-drawn sketch. “You would say if I need to stop talking, right?”

“Of course I would.”

“That means, I can keep talking?”

“As long as you like and about whatever you like.”

So, she did, still curled up, paper in hand, but letting her mouth run. She realized only after she had finished her sketch, that she had already no idea what she was talking about exactly and what she had said so far. But Sylvie had not once interrupted her, silently sitting as she let her frustrations over her sister and her summoning epithet out, the fact that a few days ago the police detective had come again to talk about her investigations, and explaining how she had gotten her coat stuck in the attic once because her dad had left it there for the way too hot summer. At some point the counting sheep had moved its body under her knees and she was careful not to squish it, as she started waving with her arms to tell her stories, pen and paper left in her lap. She didn’t notice that the animal had stolen her sketch and was biting it to bits, but she honestly could have also not cared less. She didn’t know why, but talking seemed to help, she had never been able to talk with anybody about everything. Sure, her friends were there, and she trusted them, but you couldn’t vent like this to them unprepared.

Sylvie was there for that and he didn’t seem to mind at all, which was refreshing. She knew it was his job, but she also knew him and knew he was taking it all seriously and took every word, examining it in his overthinking brain.

She realized then, while she was talking and he figured everything out about herself, that she couldn’t say the same for him. She had wondered for a long while how he became a therapist in the first place; he was barely older than her, and he was incredibly talented with his Epithet. She wondered if he had always been this smart and had just breezed through school or if he had any kind of goal to reach. She couldn’t imagine what could make a person strife for something so, so fast without any kind of starting kick. Maybe he needed to be a psychologist like she needed to be a shop keeper?

It could be, maybe she could ask him some time, if he wanted to tell her that is.

Her face made a grimace at that thought, hoping he had not to go through the same as her in any kind of way. She really hoped he was just that driven to help, that could be the positive thing, she assumed. Maybe he really just wanted to help people? But again, he had his own agendas and interests, too, he did let her biggest fear come to life after all without even batting an eyelash. As far as she knew he still hoped to get a look at the amulet to inspect it. Hopefully he could use the knowledge he would get for something good. He was the smartest person she knew, so maybe the amulet could be used as something helpful?

That fact only reminded her how he had his Epithet stolen.

Grabbing Mera’s leg to safe her had led him to her crushing his bones and throwing him down the pile of boxes and exhibits. If she was completely honest, in that moment Molly had thought he had died, or was in the process of doing so, limp body on the ground, curled up like a hedgehog that had tried to safe itself. He had looked paler than a sheet of paper, a true miracle regarding his usual skin, and he could barely move after Giovanni had restored the tiniest bit of his health. She couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like to have his whole chest turned to pieces, but somehow, he was okay now. He had said it would heal by itself, but she couldn’t help herself imagining what must be under the orange hoodie, flinching at the ideas popping up.

She wondered what it felt like to have his epithet gone.

After all, Sylvie didn’t talk about stuff like that with her, so she couldn’t know. Her thought process ended where it started, she realized, and she wondered if he ever talks to anybody over complicated, deep issues. Did he have anybody to talk to about that day? He said he doesn’t do friends, but did he have at least some people he could talk to?

Maybe he needed a therapist, too?

The guilt that was trying to creep into her mind was banished by a simple yawn, as Sylvie glanced at her with a small smirk. She was about to nod off and he stood up to get to one of his drawers. She followed him with her eyes, mouth falling shut, noticing how dry her throat was, as he pulled out a blanket. He then settled it around her shoulders, counting sheep settled on top of the blanket to nuzzle its head under her chin, before he sat back, closing his notebook.

“How about you take a nap?”

He didn’t need to ask twice, as she nodded in confirmation and the sheep disappeared in a small cloud, the sleeping dust flying around her nose. Letting her head fall back, she dozed off, Sylvie closing his eyes and exhaling a small sigh.

* * *

“So?”

It had been 3 hours since he had dropped Molly off at Sylvie’s office and since then he had not been able to sit still. He had went to get groceries, had checked on his other minions and also had went to the mall to see if he could get anything for the two (maybe sprinkle in some crime) before he had gotten a call from the 15 year-old that the session was over. Giovanni had immediately made his way back and stood now in the waiting room, staring down at Sylvie, who had his notepad clasped in his hands, looking through the pages.

“What did you figure out, four-eyes?”

Sylvie merely glared up at him, before he pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, letting out a breath.

“A lot actually.”

He seemed to take a break at that sentence, as if he was trying to figure out how he should continue, and Giovanni fidgeted a bit. He had been clearly aware that Molly had needed help, bottling all her problems up, but Sylvie looked positively exhausted. Maybe it was worse than he had imagined, and Molly was completely overstuffed with stress, anxiety and what have you. It had been painfully obvious that she was in need of a big talk and he was glad Sylvie had taken the wheel on that one.

Oh god, maybe she was still upset?

“Where is she? Is she fine?”

“She’s sleeping. She was exhausted, I couldn’t even offer water for her throat before she nodded off.”

“At least she’s resting…” Giovanni sighed, before he tilted his head, “Give it to me straight Doc. Is there stuff we can help with?”

Another bout of silence, before Sylvie pressed the notebook to his forehead, as if he was overwhelmed by the question. Giovanni could hear him mumble something, and he blinked a bit, unsure what he should do. He tried to lift his hand to put it on the younger boy’s shoulder but thought better as Sylvie shook his head like a wet dog. Then he looked up at him, his eyes betraying his nerves, a soft huff leaving him.

“Molly is still grieving the death of her mother, which is normal, of course. What is not, is the fact that she didn’t have time to do it the years before.” Sylvie scratched his head, leaning it a bit to the side, “Molly’s dad is mostly at fault, putting too many expectations on her shoulders. She still is under a lot of pressure.”

“Knew it, aww, dammit…” He rubbed his neck. “I hoped if she didn’t let herself be used as door mat, that would already help…”

“It did, but it won’t long term. If her father realizes that she is starting to go against his authority, it might get ugly. Right now, he seems happy go lucky…”

Sylvie paused once more, as if he was trying to grab the red dot swinging in front of his eyes, Giovanni guessing that the boy knew no matter how fast he was, he would not be able to grab the thought. He looked a bit lost, before he continued, his forehead folding into creases.

“She… said they became numb after her mother’s death, which is a natural reaction after all. But for it to hold on for so long, and for them to be so… careless, dumbed down almost…” He bit his lips. “I don’t suppose he will act immediately, but maybe, maybe at some point there will be a switch if we…maybe it would help telling him-”

“What? That she’s rebelling?” Giovanni let out a laugh, an angry, bitter one, and he knew he must have looked like he lost his mind, “She just wants to have time to do homework and get a good 9 hours of sleep. She wants to do homework, Sylvester, what the heck? No 12-year old wants to do homework, it’s the worst of the worst.”

The words made Sylvie cringe, opening his mouth as if he wanted to correct him, before he nodded.

“I don’t know how willing he would be to talk with us. It seems the death of his wife has taken a toll on his psyche, but who wouldn’t…” He seemed to pause, before he glared. “It’s no excuse, no matter the circumstances. He overworked and neglected her, plain and simple. The only thing we can do for a better home life is to talk to him and hope for him to be better.”

“Guess that one is on me, huh? Adults listen to adults, most of the time.”

Sylvie frowned a bit displeased, obviously irritated by the fact that he was stamped as kid once again, before he nodded: “If her father got his act just a little bit together, was just a bit better, she would get the sleep she needs. Peace of mind. The smallest step might already move a mountain.”

“And what else? More we can do?”

Sylvie shook his head: “We are already doing a great job in getting her out of her shell. She mentioned you gave her the boost to ditch work, and that is exactly what she needed. So far, there is nothing we can do more than to keep up what we’ve done so far.”

“Cool, that’s great!” Giovanni clapped his hands twice, before he leaned down and put them on his hips, “Which means we’re going to steal her today and hang out, right?”

“Excuse me…?”

“Don’t be a sour puss! Come on, you guys just spend a whole afternoon unpacking emotional garbage, time for some fun! How about a sleep-over?” He didn’t even pause for Sylvie to open his mouth. “Of course we’ll have a sleep-over, I’m not actually asking, you should know that by now.”

“But I have still to finish my papers, document- “

“Document, Schmockument, come on.” He grabbed him by the arm and was practically dragging him through his own office door. “We are not going to just go separate ways after she spilled all her feelings out to you, that would suck!”

“What DOES suck is paperwork, but you wouldn’t understand that now, would you?”

“Yeah, no, come help me instead. I don’t want her to get spooked suddenly seeing me out of nowhere. You wake her up.”

He could hear the other groan under his breath, practically begging to be shushed, but could see him straighten his jacket, Sylvie probably swallowing down his own response. Instead the boy brushed over the fabric he had been grabbed by and straightened it back, before he walked past Giovanni. As he did, he elbowed him into his side, Giovanni cringing and biting his tongue, watching the other smirk in satisfaction. Soon enough Sylvie had crouched down beside the recliner, making himself smaller so she wouldn’t be woken by him hovering above her, and he stretched his hand out over her shoulder. There he tapped it lightly to rouse her from sleep, only for her to bury herself deeper into the covers, the insistent tapping not showing signs of working. Giovanni rolled his eyes a bit at Sylvie’s attempt but the look the boy gave him answered already why he was so careful.

Neither of them wanted to wake her up.

She looked exhausted still and it would be plain wrong now to stir her. What she really needed was a real bed and some real quiet and the look Sylvie gave Giovanni was clearly one of trying to ask for help.

The response was a nod, as he gripped the girl under her shoulders and slowly picked her up, Sylvie holding the blanket, so he could carefully slide it off of her. As soon as she was in his arms, Giovanni delicately shifted her so she could lean her head on his shoulder, watching Sylvie clean up the room. As Sylvie nodded at the entrance, he let Giovanni walk out into the hallway, before he turned the lights off, taking his keys and closing the door with two clicks. Then he followed the older down the stairs, waving his coworkers goodbye while passing them and letting the fresh wind hit his face as they stepped outside, the breeze getting colder as autumn approached.

Giovanni watched the sky, grey clouds rolling in and rumbling, promising rain as the sun was starting to dip down over the horizon, slowly but steadily evening approaching. He glanced down at the boy beside him, who pocketed his keys, before he looked at Molly, who had curled her hands into the soft part of his jacket, and he nodded to himself.

“Alright, nerd, you got everything?”

“No, but do I have a choice?”

“Absolutely not.”

It was obvious, today was made for resting, and he would make sure the who were buried in blankets before the rain hit the streets. The weather will be perfect for some TV in a dimmed room, that was for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> No one wrote Molly pouring her heart out, so I had to


End file.
